Baby Toys

Stone has recently decided all his baby toys are subpar. When no toys appeased him I opted for other things, like the handle off of a broken bubble wand and an empty Coffemate creamer bottle that I cleaned out.

Lesson 91: garbage being your baby's favorite toys = white trash

Embrace the Crazy

What a day, what a day. It all started 45 minutes earlier than it should have with Stone wailing at the top of his lungs. I got him out of bed and told Jovie to lay back down, who in turn ripped off her diaper in protest. I didn't even have the energy to deal with that nonsense. I closed the door, and figured I'd be cleaning pee within the next half hour. Whatever.

I fed Stone, but he didn't want to nurse. All he wanted to do was stand on my lap, smile, and do a one-tooth grinning jig. It would have been cute at any other time of day, but at 6:20 in the morning, when the only thing cute is the back of my eyelids, I could have done without it.

As I got out of the shower I heard Jagger going down the stairs. I put on my clothes, got Jovie out of bed (who amazingly hadn't peed), and put Stone back in his crib. Now that I was awake, he wanted to sleep. Irony.

When I went downstairs I found Jagger sitting on the couch in a pair of underwear and his Mario ball cap, staring aimlessly at the tv screen. He looked up, "I don't feel so good, mom." I felt his head, and of course he had a fever. I thought maybe, just maybe, he wasn't going to catch what all the other kids have had. It's been almost 2 weeks since Jet came home sick, but here sat Jag all pathetic.

This wouldn't have been so bad had Adam not gone to Florida for a job interview. I had to pack all the kids up, not once, but three times today for school. First Jet had to go to kindergarden. There were no problems there, but when it came time to take Jude to school, all hell broke loose. Jagger cried because he didn't want to go to school. Jovie had become possessed by some demon and lost her shoe on the way to the car and I couldn't find it. Not to mention, Jude's class was celebrating Jude's birthday today in class so I had to take in these hideous Jell-o Jigglers I made. (I don't know if made or destroyed is the appropriate word here.)

Lesson 89: coming to terms with the fact you will be walking your child into school with a sick sibling with booger sliding out his nose, one covered in graham cracker in a backpack, and one without a shoe, and handing the teacher the most pathetic excuse for Jell-O = white trash

Thank you Kortney for being such a good friend! She saved me and stayed with the disaster children while I walked Jude into school with his sad birthday snack.

Anyway, after I had the two boys settled into school I waited for the roofers who are FINALLY going to finish my porch roofs. They were to get here at 10, but 10 came and went. At 11 my heart sank as I packed the kids up again to go pick Jude up.

On my way, my thoughts went out to Adam, who was in the middle of his tasting. Oh, how I hoped his day was better. Five seconds after this thought crossed my mind, I get a call from him. I answer.

"I'm almost ready to walk out of here," he said.

After he vented, I found out that no one had done anything for his tasting. There was no food, no knives, not even a place to cook! He ended up doing his tasting with a hand full of snow peas, a pepper, a couple pieces of meat, a boning knife, and a portable cook top. It was like trying to cook a gourmet meal at a camp site. At least he finished and proved he could work under pressure!!

When I got home I figured I'd offer up my day. No use stressing about ridiculous things. As I recounted all the good things about my day I heard a truck pull up. The roofers!! I quickly ran down and moved my cars out of the driveway.

As I walked down from the top of the hill, one of the roofers was hunched over. "I think I got car sick," he told me. They scraped off the old shingles and then the guy started puking all over my front yard. Awesome.

"I'm gonna take him home," the other guy told me.

Yes please!!

I looked like an idiot when they left.

Lesson 90: spraying your grass with Lysol = white trash

The day of nonsense continued, but whatever. Like I always say, embrace the crazy. I was going to eat a tub of Ben and Jerry's, put myself into an ice cream coma, and pass out, but I came upstairs to find poop in the little toilet that Jude hasn't used in over a week. Just one more fun prize for my day.

Carbon Monoxide Poisoning

This afternoon I walked downstairs and smelt something weird. I immediately called Adam. The conversation went something like this....

Jess: I smell Raid.

Adam: Raid?

Jess: Yeah, you know how Raid smells?

Adam: Did the kids get into something. (Here I rolled my eyes, like I would call him if the kids got into something.)

Jess: No. It's really strong in the basement.

Adam: Are you tired or have a headache?

Jess: *cricket*.....*cricket*.....*tumbleweed*

Adam: Oh...yeah....I guess that's a stupid question.

Lesson 88: Not knowing if you're suffering from gas poisoning because your kids give you the same symptoms = white trash

Trash Bath

One house rule for my kids - Everyone bathes before bed. There are many reasons for this rule.

1. I'm a germaphobe
2. Kids are gross
3. I'm a germaphobe
4. I have mostly boys and they have a funky natural stench
5. I thought it would be good for Jagger when he grows up and lives on his own (hopefully), it would be routine and I won't have to worry if he's cleaning himself.
6. GERMAPHOBE

Anyway, last night I was cleaning the tub to get it ready for the older kids. Stone sat in his baby seat next to me, not feeling well. He has a cold and it has made him very irritable. In a split second I changed my mind and decided to clean Stone first and put him to bed early. I didn't want to listen to him scream while the older kids splashed in the tub.

I grabbed the baby tub that rested on top of the open laundry hamper, threw it in the big tub, and filled it with water. I grabbed Stone and undressed him. He immediately calmed down. He loves the bath. I placed him in the water and he splashed merrily while he babbled, probably saying, "it took you long enough, lady." Since he was happy I thought I would pull the humidifier out from under the sink and get it ready for him and Jovie.

When I finished with the humidifier, I knelt down and began Stone's scrubbing. I hurried through our normal routine, washing head to toe, knowing Jovie needed to go to bed early too and still needed a bath.

Reaching his legs, I picked one up to wash his feet and jumped in fright. Under his bum was a big black mass. "Did you poop in the tub?" A big smile was all I got in return. Thinking about it for a second I realized black wasn't a normal color. I bravely reached into the tub and grabbed the mysterious black blob.

Lesson 87: Washing your baby with one of your husband's nasty dirty socks = white trash

Hot Dogs On Bread

Hot dogs on bread, we meet again. It's been a while since your thin bit of compressed crust got stuck behind my front teeth.

Lesson 85: being too cheap to buy your family hot dog buns = white trash

A week of Adam in charge of the financial reins, after my gallbladder surgery, combined with school shopping for the four older boys contributed to our small food fund. The school clothes weren't the problem, it was the shoes. I've never been a name brand kind of person, I wore whatever I thought looked good. Well, Adam has this tramatizing childhood memory involving a pair of Reebok Pumps. Anyone remember those? I do, and I thought they were hideous! Needless to say, Adam desperately wanted a pair, but his family didn't have a lot of money. He tells me, even though I think it's an exaggeration, that he was the only one in his class without them. He didn't get a pair until a year later when they were out of style, and they weren't even Reebok, they were a Kmart knock off. Tramatizing. After that, he vowed never to put his kids through the same kind of embarrassment.

Lesson 86: making personal promises because of Kmart special Reebok Pumps = white trash

Thank you Reebok, this hot dog on bread is for you!

Gallbladder and Adam's Glimpse of Permanent Vacation

My gallbladder has been bothering me since Jude was born, 4 years ago. It became quite a nuisance over the past few months. I constantly felt nausiated and lethagy kept me from getting anything done. After a HIDDA Scan, my doctor felt it necessary for me to get it removed. I couldn't wait to see it go.

My surgery was scheduled for last Monday. All details were worked out. Adam would take his weeks vacation to take care of me and the kids. I wouldn't be permitted to pick anything up over 5 pounds for a month. (Yeah, like that's gonna happen!)

I had to be at the hospital by 5:30 AM. Adam wasn't thrilled. He has never been a morning person, but he got his cup of coffee and bag of what I thought was full of things to keep his amuzement during the hours he'd have to wait while I went under the knife, and never complained.

While I waited in my room to be taken to surgery, Adam sat drinking his coffee. I watched him take his last swig. Knowing he would need more to carry him through, I said, "That guy said there was coffee in the waiting room."

Adam smiled, "Don't worry, I have it covered."

He threw his backpack up on the side table and unzipped it to reveal a whole airpot full of coffee. He pumped a steamy cup of brewed coffee into his cup then zipped it back up.

"Are you serious?" I chuckled.

I could tell Adam was very proud of himself, "I don't trust hospital coffee. It always sucks, and it's going to be a long day."

Lesson 82: bringing your own pot full of coffee, hidden in a backpack, to the hospital = white trash

They soon came and wisked me away to get prepped. During this time, the anaesthesiologist came to check me out and tell me what was going to happen. He told me I would have to take a few breaths in the gas mask.

"Oh no, not the mask." I joked. I recounted the story from when I got tubes put in my ears at age 6. My anaesthesiologist for that procedure happened to be my cousin. He put the mask on me and I started to cry. My cousin smiled and said, "That's right Jessie, go ahead and cry." What?! I felt betrayed and terrified. I told this story to lighten the mood, but they took it as I was going to be trouble.

"Are you closterphobic?" the one nurse asked, seeming quite concerned.

"No," I answered.

"Are you going to have a problem with the mask?" the anaesthesiologist questioned.

I rolled my eyes, "I doubt it. I am an adult now."

They obviously didn't believe me. As they pushed me down the hall, the one nurse said to the other, "Maybe you should give this one a shot of B12."

The other nurse smiled as he stuck stuff in my IV. Being suspicious I asked, "Hey, is that really B12 or is it something funny?"

"Let's just say I'm gonna look real good in a few seconds," the other guy told me.

Lesson 83: being drugged because you tried to be funny = white trash

Needless to say, I don't recall having to breath into the mask.

After the ordeal was over, Adam took me home and locked me in our room. I hardly remember anything from that day. I would wake up and hear the muffled sound of random crying or Adam yelling at kids then I would pass out again.

I woke up the next morning to Jovie and Stone crying. Adam slept next to me. I vaguely remember Adam bringing Stone in to feed him during the night, and getting up to wipe Jude's poopy bum. I shook him awake. "The kids are up."

Adam growled as he threw the blankets off him, "All I want is five minutes of undisturbed sleep!"

I smiled. How many times had those exact words spilled from my own lips? Adam hadn't even been on duty for a full 24 hours. Over the next few days I watched my husband transform into a haggard version of myself. The glazed over stare that usually looked back at me from the mirror loomed across Adam's handsome face, and phrases I spoke on a regular basis spewed from his mouth like he'd been saying them for years.

"What is wrong with you kids?!"

"I can't help everyone at the same time!"

"Can you not make a mess for like five minutes?! Is that too much to ask?!"

"Give me five freaking seconds!"

He did have a few new ones, like, "Jovie, you are five seconds away from adoption!" I thoroughly enjoyed that one.

He even treated me the way I treat him most of the time. I wanted to show him something online one day, like he often does, and he answered me with, "I can't right now, I have to get this laundry done." When I would ask him what was wrong, he'd say, "Nothing. I'm just tired."

The one bonus of him living my daily life was that he was the one wanting to go to bed at 11. He always gives me a hard time for passing out before midnight.

I overheard him on the phone, a few days ago, telling a co-worker he wanted to come back to work. He's used to being the boss, not being bossed around by children. By the end of the week he had nearly lost his mind. The last straw was having to change Jovie's bed 3 days in a row. She had decided she didn't want to wear a diaper at night any more and would rip it off and pee all over her blankets.

Lesson 84: duct taping your daughter's diaper on her body = white trash

Adam went back to work today. I'm sure he's reveling in the quiet. I am sad to not have him here. He really did take good care of me and supplied me with plenty of entertainment!

Sisters

Sister relationships are very special. I have four brothers, and only one sister. When I was younger, I always wanted a sister but had to wait 16 years to get one. At least I had my one brother, up until that point, who let me put him in a dress and do his makeup for a penny. Yes, I'm talking about you Clayte, you miser!

Lesson 79: loving money so much you let your older sister dress you up like a girl for some lame penny she found laying willy-nilly on the floor = a cross dressing Scrooge McDuck

Even though my sister, Veronica (I named her), didn't come until I was almost an adult, I still felt a close bond with her. We did everything together. Not exactly by choice, as I ended up being her live in nanny. It was a bit awkward when Adam and I would take her around town and outsiders assumed she was ours. We got so tired of explaining our situation, it got to the point people would say, "She's so cute. Is she yours?" Our reply would be a quick, "Yep" as we ran away. We weren't lying. We didn't just find her on the road somewhere. She definitely wasn't theirs.

When Ronnie was little I dressed her up and did her hair, kind of like having a live doll. Unfortunately, she was some sort of child prodigy, using big words and being able to spell at age 2. She had a bigger vocabulary than Clayte, who was 16 at this time, and everytime someone would say the word pizza it turned into a spelling bee. "Pizza, P-I-Z-Z-A, pizza". This kind of intelligence got me in trouble. She's the one who told on me when I got a tattoo.

Lesson 80: being narked out by a 2 year old = white trash

As she grew, the differences between us became more apparent. For starters, our looks are completely opposite. I'm a brunette with brown eyes. She's light haired with sparkly, bright blue eyes. I have oomp-loompa legs and a ridiculously long torso, and she has the longest legs I have ever seen with barely any middle. Oh, and my mom tells me she'll probably get boobs too. Hello?! Where is the justice in all this? Where are my gazelle legs? I could have at least gotten some pretty eyes. Nope, Beady-eyed-no-boobs here ready to go work in Charlie's Chocolate Factory.

Our looks aren't the only thing that are different. She's a talented ballerina. I dance, but I did more hip-hop. I guess you have to do what works for your legs. (I'm rolling my eyes right now.) Of course, it may not have anything to do with legs. She's a girly girl and very proper. I've always been more of a tomboy, and a lot more ghetto. (I get it honestly, you should see my booty!)

Come to think of it, there are only two things that we share. One is the ridiculous size of our feet. We both have very long feet, with abnormally long toes. The second is our ability to put those disgusting things we walk on, right in our mouths. That's right, we both have a severe case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. We don't mean to be rude, it just comes out that way. Constantly.

I've come to accept my problem, and I have tried to work on it for years. Luckily, I've had years. Ronnie is only 14 and hasn't had much practice on restraint. So, when she was here for 3 weeks last month (along with my two youngest brothers who are 10 and 9) I had plenty of amusement as she unknowingly insulted me over and over and over again. (Ronnie, you better not be crying right now or I'll tell everyone how your 30 year old sister, who gave birth to 6 kids, kicked your butt at Just Dance.....oh wait, I just did......oh, snap!)

"You are going to fix this counter top, right?" she'd ask. Or, "Your garden really needs weeded." The best was when Jackie was over and out of nowhere she lovingly glanced over at me and said, "Jessie, one of these days I'm going to pick out an outfit for you, do your hair, and paint your nails."

I looked at her and chuckled, "Wow Ronnie, cold as ice."

My sister looked at me, confusion in her eyes, "What?"

Jackie chimed in, "You pretty much just told your sister she can't dress herself and her hair is hideous."

Lesson 81: needing to be dressed by a 14 year old because you obviously can't do it yourself = white trash

Sisters. I'm so very blessed to have one!

Love you Ronnie!!